


Even the Asshole Can be Gay

by adrisbee



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gay Awakening, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6562330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrisbee/pseuds/adrisbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new Orlesian nobleman in Skyhold, and he's catching Eugene's attention. The man must be a spy. That's the only reasonable explanation, right? Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even the Asshole Can be Gay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElvenSemi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSemi/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Keeping Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438185) by [ElvenSemi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSemi/pseuds/ElvenSemi). 



There was a new nobleman wandering around Skyhold. That wasn't surprising. Ever since word of the Inquisition’s activities had continued to spread, more and more Orlesians had come to Skyhold, hoping to associate themselves and gain favor with the Maker’s Chosen. Eugene sneered. They professed their faith, but he knew what they were really after. Power. So then why was this nobleman, who should've been indistinguishable from the rest of his masked peers, catching his eye?

He’d noticed this nobleman for a few days now. The man had mostly mingled with the other nobles, his laughter drifting across the main hall as he engaged in the machinations of the Game. Sometimes Eugene saw him in the Chantry garden. Orlesian fashions were as ridiculous as ever, but his heeled shoes and fashionably-cut breeches had always highlighted the... pleasing aesthetic of his well-turned calves. And the glints of amber from behind his mask just _screamed_ “hidden secrets.”

Eugene hissed, startling an elven servant who was walking past him. There must be _something_ about this man that was arousing his suspicions. Orlesians were made of lies and deceit; if he were picking up on something particularly heinous... Inquiries would have to be made.

He quickly strode through the main hall, his boots clacking against the stone floors and making muffled thumps against the thick carpets. Vivienne’s eye for presentation had been a valuable asset in determining the decor. Alas, he didn’t have long to admire the lavish hall trappings before reaching the entrance of the Lady Ambassador’s office.

Josephine looked up from the papers on her desk as he entered. “Inquisitor,” she greeted, placing her quill in its holding stand. “A pleasant surprise. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Josephine, what do you know of the Orlesian nobles who have recently arrived at Skyhold?” Eugene asked, shifting his weight and crossing his arms stiffly. “There is a… Pierre, in particular.”

The Ambassador raised her eyebrows and blinked. “In partic-? _Oh_. I see. There is Lord Pierre. He comes as a representative of his aunt, the Comtesse Helene. The family is moderately devout, and the Comtesse is a noted patron of learning. There was a scandal a few years ago when the Comtesse attempted to sponsor an elven math prodigy hoping to enter the University of Orlais. The Lord himself, however, is better known for his past associations with Duke Cyril de Montfort. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you at the moment.”

Eugene frowned as a furrow settled neatly into the familiar crease in his brow. “I see. Thank you, Josephine.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” she nodded, blinking slowly as he turned away and exited back into the main hall.

Thoughts swirled through the Inquisitor’s mind as his feet took him to the Chantry garden, nearly running over the dwarven carvings expert that kept asking him for more mosaic pieces. His intuition was onto something, with this Lord Pierre. But the according to Josephine, the man was perfectly respectable! His family supported the elves! His “past associations” with Duke Cyril must be the key, then. Hadn’t he heard something about Cyril’s father, the late Duke Prosper? He should ask Leliana to—

Eugene’s thoughts were cut short as he was startled by a muffled gasp. He looked up, realizing that he was in the small prayer room at the side of the Chantry garden. A place he often went when he needed to think about important matters. But this time, he was not alone. No, between him and the statue of Andraste was a man. A _handsome_ man, dressed in Orlesian finery, with heeled shoes and fashionably-cut breeches that showed off his legs, but now he didn’t have his—

“Inquisitor,” the man said, bowing in front of him. “I apologize, I did not mean to intrude.” Eugene froze, looking at the man’s face. His _unmasked_ face. A face that had its features in all the right places. Eyelashes thick with deception, a mouth perfectly shaped for telling lies, and copper skin that shone with the Maker's light. Eugene tensed. This man was worrisome. Terribly, _terribly_ worrisome.

“Are you Lord Pierre?” he asked, his tongue nearly tripping over itself as the words slipped out. The main raised his eyes and straightened, and Eugene recognized the amber that, until now, he had merely glimpsed.

Pierre’s eyes widened, his mouth curving into a smile. “I am honored that a man blessed by the Maker himself knows my name.”

“I asked the Lady Ambassador about you,” Eugene felt himself say, frozen as he was. “I’ve been seeing you around Skyhold lately, and I have… questions.”

“Of course, Herald of Andraste,” the Orlesian replied, shifting his doublet.

Eugene swallowed, heat rising to his cheeks as he watched the man’s hands tug slightly at his collar. “Why are you not wearing your mask?”

“Ah, that is slightly embarrassing,” Pierre flushed, keeping eye contact. “The Game is the Game, but the masks become stuffy after a few hours. Particularly in enclosed spaces. I came here to contemplate the blessings of Maker, which include the joys of breathing fresh air without the impediment of a sheet of ceramic.”

Eugene blinked. That… that was not what he was expecting. But still, his intuition would not lie. This Orlesian was hiding something, he was sure of it.

Eugene crossed his arms, his eyes flicking between the Orlesian’s eyes and mouth, desperately trying to gauge the nature of this man’s character. The skill had never been his strong suit. “You’re related to the Comtesse Helene. She wished to sponsor an elven man to enter the University in Orlais. Do you support that?”

Pierre took a step towards the Inquisitor, his movements smooth as royale sea silk. “I do. The elves assisted Andraste in her fight against the Imperium. That is not something I would forget.”

“No, no it is not,” Eugene agreed, taking a step forward himself. The Orlesian’s nose, he noted, gave him a trustworthy countenance. A marvelously adept cover, but one he would not be fooled by. Not with his instinct alerting him so. His cheeks continued to tingle as a wave of heat began traveling down his person. “And what was your relation to Duke Cyril de Montfort?”

Now it was Pierre’s turn to blink. He did so quite wonderfully. His eyelashes were truly marvels of deception. For a moment, Eugene was certain that he had seen the man’s eyes flash with realization.

“We were companions during our youth, but that time has passed. I am not surprised that a man blessed by the Maker so many times over would also have such fine tastes.”

“It is comforting to know that the Maker’s will is being heard throughout Thedas,” Eugene admitted, unfolding his arms.

Pierre stepped forwards, closing the gap between them. “The Maker wills many marvelous things. Enchanting things, even.”

His amber eyes locked with Eugene’s, blocking out everything in the room, save the Inquisitor’s own heartbeat. “I think I know what you mean,” Eugene whispered.

Pierre leaning in wasn’t startling. Neither was the kiss. Nor kissing him back. Nor the hands that gripped his waist. Nor being pressed against the wall. Those were all quite pleasant. Extremely enjoyable, even. In fact, the complete inevitability of the situation was the most surprising thing of all.

Pierre trailed his fingertips down Eugene’s arm as he left. Eugene watched the Orlesian fit his mask and exit into the main garden, and resolved that he might invite Lord Pierre to lunch. A personal lunch. Walls were lovely, and his room had many of them. It also had a sofa. And a fireplace. Though it was lacking in statues of Andraste that were obviously signs that the Maker had intended this. All of this. What happened was perfectly okay and a direct result of the Maker’s will. Obviously.

From the other side of the room, Celia blinked owlishly as she watched the Inquisitor fret and mumble to himself before hurriedly exiting the small chapel. As a servant, she’d seen a lot of weird shit over the years. She was a good servant because she was easily ignored. That, however, was not something she had expected. Not out of the Inquisitor. Definitely a moment for her journal. The kitchen girls would love it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you ElvenSemi for allowing this! I'm glad that you're as amused by Eugene fretting over a Sexy Orlesian Nobleman as I am.


End file.
